Lemonade
by Andraste
Summary: What was really going on in New X-Men #116, complete with spoilers for New X-Men #117.


This story's dialogue is directly quoted from New X-Men #116, which like the rest of the things in here belongs to Marvel comics. It contains massive spoilers for New X-Men #117.

You know, strangely enough, I rather like Cassandra Nova. And my motto has always been, when Marvel gives you lemons ...

**Lemonade**

By Andraste

_There are days I feel your twin,  
Peekaboo, hiding underneath your skin ..._

Tori Amos, _Suede_

Charles Xavier had a gun in his pocket, and he wasn't pleased to see her.

Emma Frost looked down at the body with an expression as diamond-hard as her new skin. "There are some things you just shouldn't be allowed to get _away_ with."

Like existing.

For an animal, the Wolverine seemed strangely squeamish. "You okay with this?"

Xavier was even stronger than she'd anticipated. Under the sickly-sweet moral exterior, there was a fizzing torrent of power.

The X-Men's fearless leader shrugged, secure in his post-Apocalyptic equilibrium. "She had to be neutralized, Logan."

In the end, however, Charles's power was immaterial. He had never stood a chance.

Scott turned to their latest recruit, hope and relief simmering under his voice. "Emma ... I _knew_ you wouldn't turn your back on us."

No matter how guarded you were, there was no defence against an enemy that could slide right through your walls.

"Sweet as you are, I didn't come back for _you_, Scott. I came back for my handbag." Emma picked up the item in question and slung a stylish coat over her shoulder, although Cassandra couldn't imagine what the other telepath wanted it for. If the woman was cold, surely she would have put some clothes on.

It occurred to her that she was never going to carry a handbag again. How strange.

"Lucky for you, this is a Louis Vuitton ..."

She was going to have to do something about the wardrobe, actually. Charles had always had appalling dress sense. Nova wondered how soon she would be able to go shopping without arousing suspicion.

"Hey. She has _healing_ gifts, right ...?"

In the year 2001, many Americans were shot with their own guns. A lot of them pulled the trigger themselves. But Cassandra Nova took great pleasure in the knowledge that her brother was the only one who watched through other eyes while his own hand drew the weapon.

Afterwards, it was the sounds that would give her the most lasting joy, the heard and the unheard. She gloried in the fact that he hadn't even had time to gasp as she grabbed his mind and tossed it casually into her own ruined body. The sound of his panicked explanation choking past the vocal chords she had allowed the Wolverine to sever was even better. The fear and horror that coloured what had been her voice were like the sweetest music.

Best of all was the knowledge that of all the worst things that streamed past her eyes as his memories broke over her, this was worst of all. As she calmly held his mind under the psychic waters, pinning it to the dying flesh so that he couldn't flee to the astral plane, the sound of bullets cracking out of the gun he had carried to prevent this contingency was more delicious still. He flickered out like a dampened candle.

With difficulty, she schooled her face into an appropriate expression. "It killed sixteen million mutants. It would have killed _all_ of us. May posterity _forgive_ me."

That was inspired. Charles right down to the toenails, always asking absolution, always apologising for what he was. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"May our dry cleaners forgive you, Charles, dear."

The blood from the cut on Cassandra's fresh head was running into her eye, but she didn't reach up and wipe it away. Not just yet. She wanted it on her tongue, to know if mutants tasted as rotten as their minds felt. She let a shiver of disgust take her, since the X-Men wouldn't think anything of it, and reminded herself that this was a means to an end.

"May God award you a _medal_ for your uninhibited marksmanship."

The gun had been unnecessary - she could have easily extinguished Xavier in his wounded and confused state using her psychic powers alone. Nova savoured the irony even so. If Charles had wanted to stop this happening, he should have acted on his death wish years ago. There was always a shadow in the night that you didn't see coming, and they clustered around his bright flame like moths.

"Hardcore, Chuck."

She slid the mask called Professor X down over her mind, allowed it to put the right hint of sorrow into the calm voice.

"I had to put a stop to it, Logan." An ending, to their dream and their very existence, right here and right now, and they hadn't even noticed. "I won't allow any more mutants to _die_." She allowed the gun to drop from fingers that felt awkward and too large, although they were long and delicate on a man's hands. "Things must change now."

Yes. Things would change. So fast, so completely. There was no going backwards.

She glanced sideways at her own cast-off skin. This carcass would take some getting used to, half-dead as it was. But she didn't desire Charles Xavier for his body. His mind, his face, his fortune, his reputation, those she needed. And above all, the beloved children that had filled his final terrified thoughts. Revenge, even as cold as this, was sweet.

Work with what you have. Make the best of a bad sensation.

"To me, my X-Men."

Oh. Yes. They were _all_ hers now.

The End


End file.
